


the piano is not firewood yet

by kittan



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: AU where Berkut has the other brand, Celica doesn't get to die for Alm's Pain later, Gen, Rinea isn't just a demure barely speaking character, also known as: i wanted berkut to live, also the ship exists but it's not technically the main focus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 08:24:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20524952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittan/pseuds/kittan
Summary: “Berkut, please. Your hand…” He trails off, and Berkut shoves his right hand behind his back further, clenching his spear tighter with a step back. “Who… who told you to hide it? Who knew what it meant?”“...The emperor.” Berkut’s voice is cold, laced with bitterness and pain. “...Uncle. He instructed me to hide it as soon as I was in his care, and I have concealed it ever since.”





	1. you wish you were small.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my AU where berkut does Not get possessed by Duma, where rinea actually has a personality outside of uwu, where celica gets to be more feral and less idiot ball by not getting tricked by jedah, and where berkut has the other brand!
> 
> might add more to this, might not, Who Knows.,

It was only a slip of the hand that catches Alm’s eyes and halts Berkut’s attacks on him, as their fight skitters to an abrupt halt with Alm’s words, the sound echoing through Rigel Castle. “You… you have a brand?”  
  


Berkut’s eyes flare with anger, and Alm finds himself wishing desperately he had the gift of knowing what to say to defuse the situation - suddenly, he understands why Berkut was always wearing gloves. Instead, he takes an unsteady breath and holds out his hand, revealing his mark on the back of his hand, and gives his foe - his  _ cousin? Family? _ \- a pleading look.  
  


“Berkut,  _ please _ . Your hand…” He trails off, and Berkut shoves his right hand behind his back further, clenching his spear tighter with a step back. “Who… who told you to hide it? Who knew what it meant?”

  
  


“...The emperor.” Berkut’s voice is cold, laced with bitterness and pain. “...Uncle. He instructed me to hide it as soon as I was in his care, and I have concealed it ever since.” There is no further emotion to his words, and he slowly uncovers his right hand to reveal what Alm knew he had glimpsed in their earlier fight; a mark on the palm of his hand, similar to his own.  
  


Alm feels his body go cold as he processes this information, his world tilting sideways as he struggles to reconcile the truth with the events that had transpired. Emperor Rudolf was his  _ father _ , Berkut was his cousin, Berkut carried the other mark… his father hid this from both of them.  _ Why? What was the reason?  _ “Did… did he tell you what it meant?”  
  


He knows immediately that his question was a mistake. Berkut’s expression vanishes into one of raw pain and fury, and Alm wishes  _ instantly _ he could go back and shut his own mouth. But Berkut replies, through gritted teeth. “No.”

He doesn’t know what to say; he feels numb to this info. Rudolf had simply hidden everything from the man he raised as his own son, and now Alm was feeling like an intruder that knew far, far too much for his own good. “Rudolf… father said that it was a sign. He said… that it meant the person who bore the brand would help end the madness of Duma.” His voice shakes, ever so slightly, as he stumbles over his words. 

“... _ Did _ he now?” Berkut mutters it bitterly, fury displacing itself with a numb apathy to Alm’s words. “I suppose being the best possible heir one could be for years… being raised by someone... doesn’t qualify you for such important knowledge about yourself.  _ No _ , only being someone’s blood son makes you important enough.”  
  


Alm flinches slightly at his words, shaking his head with a wince. “That’s not… I’m sure he was just protecting you, Berkut. You’re so much closer to the Duma faithf--”  
  


“Ah, so ‘ _ protecting _ ’ someone is a justification for years of lies and silence…?” He shakes his head with a hollow, bitter laugh. “Give it up, Alm.  _ Congratulations!  _ Should I call you  _ Your Excellency _ , now? You’ve won. How does it feel knowing you hold both the respect of Zofia and the kingdom of Rigel in your hands? It must feel incredible.”

“I don’t… I don’t  _ care _ about being the king of Rigel! I don’t care about any of that! I haven’t won  _ anything! _ Please, just… come with us. You’re like me, Berkut, we could b--”

“SILENCE!” Berkut’s voice cracks as he snarls the word, blinking even the suggestion of tears pricking in his eyes back frantically. He moves back quickly, holding his spear in front of him unsteadily; he knows better, knows that it’s not at all a defense the way he’s holding it, but a mixture of pain and panic clouds his reactions. “You’re nothing like me,  _ Alm _ ! You don’t understand  _ anything _ !” 

  
  


“Maybe I want to understand! I can’t understand anything unless you tell me! And you don’t-” His voice wavers, and it’s all he can do to swallow and continue. “You don’t have to… tell me anything right now. Not… not even anytime soon. But… please. Come with us, Berkut. The people of Rigel trust you. If we work together…” He trails off, and feels his heart sink as Berkut steadies his stance, his eyes full of rage as he poises himself for a fight. 

“Work  _ together _ ?! You--”

  
  


“Berkut?” A soft voice broke into their conversation, and Alm jumps slightly as a girl clad in blue walks forward out of the shadows behind Berkut, her eyes full of concern. It takes him a minute to recognize her, having only ever seen her previously on the battlefield back lines healing the Rigellian army. Berkut’s reaction is instantaneous; he immediately gets between her and Alm with a frantic, almost terrified disposition, and Alm winces at the realization his cousin truly believes that he would attack them.  
  


“There’s no need for that. He hasn’t attacked you, Berkut.” Rinea’s voice is calm, with a guarded undertone as she speaks, her voice measured carefully. “What is going on? The castle was already ordered to evacuate under a retreat. The Deliverance has won.” Her eyes meet Alm’s steadily, and he seizes the opportunity to speak before Berkut can.  
  


“I, I’m the leader of the Deliverance,” He interjects, his eyes wide. “And- and I wanted to talk to Berkut. He’s… he’s my cousin, and his hand--”

“This… is  _ Alm _ ,” Berkut interrupts through gritted teeth. “And I was in retreat, he just caught up to me--”

“You’re… Lord Berkut’s cousin?” Her voice rises above the both of theirs, silencing them almost instantly. Surprise is clear across her face, and Alm relaxes ever so slightly, taking a step forward carefully. Berkut tenses in response, but before he can do anything, Rinea gently moves in front of him, glancing at him with shock. “Did the emperor tell you this?”

  
  


A silence hangs over the room as her question goes unanswered, Alm searching desperately for the words to explain without upsetting Berkut further. What could he say in response to that that would not enrage or hurt the other man? Anything he’d said prior only served to further enrage him, and he was running out of words to tactfully explain how both of their worlds had just gotten shattered within hours.   
  


But it was Berkut who spoke first, his voice tight and cold. “...No. He did not.”  
  


Rinea turns to meet Alm’s eyes quizzically, and he realizes the unspoken question -  _ did he tell you? _ He swallows nervously before he speaks. “He told me… that he was my father. As he was dying. I didn’t-- I didn’t know before.”  
  


“I see.” Even though her expression was calm, there was a steely edge to her words that made Alm tense - she had only ever used staves that he had seen, but perhaps if his words angered her enough or hurt her fiance enough...  
  


However, she did not move towards him, instead stepping back and turning to face Berkut almost entirely. “Emperor Rudolf did not tell you that Alm was your  _ family _ , and instead pushed you to face him in  _ combat _ ?”

  
  


Her words hung heavy in the air as a pit formed in Alm’s stomach as he processed her words, uncomfortably aware of a similar realization forming on Berkut’s face. It was true - Berkut had simply been sent to fight him twice on Rudolf’s behalf, with no knowledge that Alm was related to him in any way.  _ ‘Did he not know?’ _ Alm thinks weakly, feeling like his world is about to tilt again.  __ ‘Was it only when we met face to face…?’  
  


“He…” Berkut’s voice waivers, and his eyes frantically dart around to meet anything but Rinea’s eyes. “That is, perhaps he did not know…”  
  


“Lord Berkut.” Her voice is firm as she gently takes his free hand with a frustrated sigh. “I understand…” She hesitates, glancing over at Alm before frowning and continuing. “What we’ve spoken about in the past. But… the emperor encouraged you to fight family, and then punished you for failing to kill him?” 

There is an unspoken conversation happening between the two in front of Alm’s eyes, and he holds his breath. Berkut’s facial expression is unreadable, and Rinea meets his stare with an equally determined one, the silence heavy in the air around them as her uncomfortable words hung above them. Finally, he almost stumbles down to his knees, pain and disbelief visible in his eyes, and Alm shifts uncomfortably.  
  
  


“...I think he speaks honestly, Berkut.” Rinea breaks the long silence after a while, glancing to Alm with a measured gaze. “Sir Alm… may we please have a night in one of the castle rooms to talk? I give my word; we will not attack you or your men. You have won. Just… please, give us some time.”   
  


“ _ Rinea. _ ” Berkut’s voice cracks, that one word a simple plead to not show his enemy any vulnerability. She simply squeezes his hand in silence, a gentle expression on her face as she looks at him. He refuses to look up, visibly shaking as he tries to compose himself.  
  


“Of- of  _ course _ you can!” Alm’s eyes are wide as he frantically almost yells his response, a sharp gasp escaping him in surprise. “Take all the time you need,  _ please _ ! No one will attack you, I promise, but - please, let me at least have someone to guard you! If anyone else knows Berkut has a brand, I--”  
  


“Thank you, Sir Alm.” She interrupts with a grateful smile, shaking her head slightly. “I don’t think a guard is necessary.” Before he can respond, she gently helps Berkut back to his feet, turning to guide him towards one of the staircases. Alm hesitates for a moment before deciding to trust her, and turns to rejoin the rest of the Deliverance for a meeting.


	2. so you might as well start trying.

“Rinea, why… why do you show him mercy?” Berkut’s voice is raw and ragged and hoarse as he practically chokes on his words, unable to properly convey anything by this point. Keeping himself together in front of his enemy was one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do in the face of his world being revealed to be simply lies, and by the time he was alone with Rinea his facade had crumbled to shards. “He… our empire is gone because of him--”   
  


“Berkut, perhaps I don’t  _ want _ to be an empress!” Rinea snaps with a glare, and he falls silent immediately, his eyes wide with shock and pain. There is silence for a moment as she pauses to collect her thoughts before she responds, much softer. “...Berkut, listen to me. I don’t… I don’t need to be an empress. I don’t care that you don’t have an empire. I’m just… happy you’re alive. I’m happy to  _ be _ with you, Berkut. And that’s why I can show him mercy; he didn’t harm you.”

“You…” His voice cracks into a harsh sob, as he buries his face into her dress with a choked gasp. “You deserve to be one. I don’t- I don’t deserve anything,” he chokes out, and the rest of his thought is drowned out by a mixture of pained sobs and slamming his fist harmlessly against the bed Rinea sat on.    
  


“...Listen to you. Always so harsh on yourself.” She murmurs gently, tilting his head up with one hand to gently wipe away his tears. “The time for tears and mourning will come later, milord. And you cannot undo the years of the Emperor’s words and treatment in a day, much how Rigel cannot be rebuilt in one, either. But you can be apart of the rebuilding.”   
  


“...Have I the right?” Berkut muttered hoarsely, wiping his eyes with the back of one hand with a resigned, pained look. His head was throbbing as he spoke, and he shut his eyes tightly in an attempt to lessen the pain. “ _ Look _ at me, Rinea. I am nothing, now.  _ He _ is the rightful heir to Rigel, and I am the powerless loser.”    
  


“You  _ aren’t _ nothing.” Rinea retorts coldly, folding her arms with a glare. “Pull yourself together, Lord Berkut. Perhaps he is the heir to Rigel, but no one has worked near as hard as you in so many aspects - fighting, dancing, speeches. And…” She pauses, grabbing his right hand before he could respond, flipping it over to reveal his brand. “This is not the mark of nothing, Berkut. Give him a chance. Perhaps if we work with him, we can follow  _ your _ ideals as well - rid this land of the gods that poison men’s mind.”

  
  


_ “She is lying.” _ A voice whispers in Berkut’s head, and he grits his teeth in pain as the throbbing intensifies.  __ “Call to me, Berkut. You can destroy him. All of Rigel will be in your hands.”  
  


_ “Shut up,” _ He thinks with a snarl, clutching one hand to his head in misery.  __ “Rinea would never lie to me. Whatever you are, begone from my thoughts!”  
  


_ “Call to me, Berkut.”  _ It whispers again, more intense than before.  __ “Trusting anyone but yourself is your undoing.”  
  


_ “I’m trusting myself when I tell you to shut up.” _ He hisses, before painfully opening his eyes to meet Rinea’s concerned gaze. “..Fine. I trust you. If that is what you wish, I’ll follow you anywhere.”   
  


Her eyes brighten at his words, and despite the pain shooting through his head and the ever-present feeling of the world having been yanked out from beneath his feet, he felt a small warmth in his heart at her happiness. “Give him a chance. If… if he’s your family, maybe you could get along. Maybe he knows more about why the Emperor had you hide your brand for so long.”   
  
  


It stings - she’s  _ right _ , of course. Family would be…  _ new _ to him. But the raw pain of knowing he was so easily cast aside for a son that his uncle had literally shipped out of Rigel to begin with, that he was nothing in the eyes of someone who was a father figure for so long to the point of not knowing such important details such as why his brand must be concealed… it hurt. That his life was built on lies… it tore him open, raw and bloody, and he so desperately wished that he could pull himself together and be the collected prince he was almost exactly 24 hours before.

_ “Avenge yourself.” _ The voice hisses, and Berkut digs his fingernails into his arm with gritted teeth.  _ “Why bury your misery? Let it loose,  _ ** _destroy_ ** _ Alm… give in to me.” _

“I’ll give him… a chance. I suppose.” He speaks it out loud, mostly out of spite to the hissing in his head, and is rewarded with a faint snarl in the back of his brain. Rinea’s expression brightens into a full, sweet smile, and he manages a tired, pained one of his own. “Ugh. I can’t believe I’m going to be accepting leadership from a _ farm boy _ .”   
  
  


“Oh, please.” Her voice is light and teasing by this point, though he can still see concern in her eyes. “You already proposed to minor nobility, it’s not that much of a leap.”

“...That’s different.” Now he knows she’s just trying to cheer him up, and he finds himself playing along anyways. The migraine in his head ebbs slowly away as he lightly scowls and she laughs warmly. “You’re deserving of the highest nobility, anyways.” He mutters with a wince, and she gently reaches a hand out to place on top of his own hand.

  
  


They stay like that in silence, and Berkut can’t help but feel grateful for her concern and way of at the very least reminding him that he can’t wallow in his own misery forever. Still, a pang of frustration and fear held at the back of his head;  _ what was he getting himself into with the Deliverance? _   
  



End file.
